


On the Edge of a Blade

by willneverbeordinary



Series: Very, Very, Very [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal (TV) RPF
Genre: (well i mean nothing terrible just slightly unsafe and not recommended by the author), Anal Sex, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Hand Jobs, Hannigram - Freeform, Knifeplay, M/M, Madancy, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 10:09:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5493410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willneverbeordinary/pseuds/willneverbeordinary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Hugh had suggested to Bryan, not all too seriously, that Will Graham might be very much into knifeplay, and that the potential fourth season should explore that for the sex scenes between Hannibal and Will, the idea had somehow stuck. It had latched on and it buzzed at the back of his skull louder and louder until it was an entire mess of ideas and scenarios taking shape, and it all threatened to bubble past his lips at any moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Edge of a Blade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> This is a Christmas gift for the lovely, wonderful and amazing [bu0nanotte](http://bu0nanotte.tumblr.com/). Merry Christmas, angel! A Madancy knifeplay fic with a splash of Hannigram; a total of 5000+ words written just for you!
> 
> (For translation of the Danish dialogue, just hover the sentences.)

After Hugh had suggested to Bryan, not all too seriously, that Will Graham might be very much into knifeplay, and that the potential fourth season should explore that for the sex scenes between Hannibal and Will, the idea had somehow stuck. It had latched on and it buzzed at the back of his skull louder and louder until it was an entire mess of ideas and scenarios taking shape, and it all threatened to bubble past his lips at any moment.

With _Hannibal_ cancelled and a fourth season up in the air, Hugh didn’t get phone calls at ungodly hours by Bryan to discuss ideas for the scripts, and thus no natural outlet for all these damn ideas, either. With a mostly held back sigh he glanced over at Mads sitting beside him. The time they had together now was rare. This time he is visiting his friend at Mads’ home and they are watching a game of football (Denmark vs. Sweden and Denmark really wasn’t doing too well) and Mads is shouting excitedly, a beer in one hand and a last slice of pizza in the other.

Hugh smiles.

He doesn’t try to speak until the commercial break and when he does manage to get Mads’ attention he turns to Hugh with crinkles around his eyes and his tongue pressed between his teeth as he smiles.

Hugh grins back at him. “Hi.”

Mads huffs a laugh and looks him up and down. “Uh, hello.”

“Nothing, just.” He makes a vague gesture and shrugs. “You’re happy.”

“Beer, football. Nice company,” Mads says as he ducks his head, smiling widely.

With a smile of his own Hugh bumps the man with his shoulder before grabbing the remote and pressing ‘mute’. The noise of the commercial ends abruptly and Hugh hears his own heartbeat in the silence that follows. He glances over at Mads who is still looking at him with a tiny quirk of his lips.

“I’ve been thinking.”

“No, don’t do that!”

“Oh, screw you.” He shoves at Mads’ shoulder and Mads just gives him a hoarse chuckle.

Two, three fingers wanders up his arm then, and a warm, rough hand slips underneath the collar of Hugh’s t-shirt to rest where his neck and shoulder meet. When Mads’ thumb makes a slow, gentle caress along the side of Hugh’s throat he turns his head along with the motion.

“I’m listening,” Mads says softly.

Mads is looking at him with soft eyes and Hugh drops his gaze. He takes a deep breath. And another. His skin is warm and his pulse is thudding against Mads’ thumb. All his ideas rattle around in complete disorder and eventually it just tumbles out. 

“I think Will would be really into knifeplay,” he says, eyes darting up to meet Mads’.

Mads blink at him. Smiles. Frowns. Takes his hand from Hugh’s shoulder and reaches for his beer. He doesn’t drink.

“Well, I mean, you know, given the fact that they do have sex in season four. And I think they will. And considering what Will has fantasized about has been rather, you know, violent, it seems reasonable to assume he—“

“Uh, what?” Mads is still holding the beer without drinking it. He blinks a few times.

“Sex? Between Will and Hannibal?”

“Is Will going to kill Hannibal when they fuck? With the knife, that’s a bit strange, right?”

“Oh!” Hugh lets up a small laugh. “No, That’s not— have you never heard of ‘knifeplay’ before?”

Mads gives a huff that’s not quite a laugh. “No.”

“Okay. Well. I’m assuming Will would draw blood but technically, as I understand it, it’s more a play on fear than the intent to actually cut your partner.”

“You’re really boring at explaining this sex kink thing,” Mads tells him and takes a chug of his beer.

The game is back on but Mads hasn’t yet reached for the remote to unmute the TV. He’s looking at Hugh with a leer and Hugh reaches over to the coffee table and picks up the dinner knife from his empty plate. He presses a thumb to the edge.

“Allow me to be non-boring then.”

“Come on, that’s not a real knife,” Mads laughs. He shakes his head and presses the tip of his tongue to the back of his teeth with a smile.

Hugh quirks an eyebrow at him. “You’re an actor.”

Mads is nodding and then shaking his head, still smiling that smile. “Eh, okay.”

“Will and Hannibal survived the fall. They’ve healed. They’ve kissed. They have fucked.”

He sees Mads’ eyebrows jump. Hugh gives him a quick grin and then he looks at the knife. He turns it in his hand, slowly, feeling the weight and point of balance. The steel has warmed up by his touch.

“Will is— _curious._ Hannibal has marked him, cut through the skin, and Will has only marked him in return by proxy. It’s not just that, though. It’s about control.”

Mads licks his bottom lip. “Will’s control over Hannibal?”

“Will’s control over himself. He’s been afraid of hurting those he love. Is he going to be able to balance on that edge or not?”

“Hannibal doesn’t feel fear and pain like others, right. So it would be kind of safe. Even if it would be dangerous it might be strangely safe.”

Hugh nods. “I mean, yeah, look, Hannibal wouldn’t be afraid. Will’s fear is the point.”

Mads leers at him again. “Are you sure you do know how this knifeplay thing works? Isn’t the guy who has it done to him supposed to be the scared one, not the guy doing it?”

Turning the knife in his hand, he doesn’t respond.

“Do you have a general grasp of the scene?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah.”

“Ok, good.”

When he shifts closer he conceals what he’s holding in his hand but Hannibal’s gaze flickers in that direction regardless. His left hand comes up to rest gently against Hannibal’s chest and he gazes into watchful eyes. He leans in and presses a closemouthed kiss to soft lips and instantly there’s a hand at the back of his skull and the touch of tongue to his bottom lip and he parts his lips to the touch and his mouth fills with the secondhand taste of beer and he inhales sharply through his nose and he presses the knife to the soft skin of Hannibal’s throat.

Hannibal stills instantly.

Giving a little nip with his teeth to Hannibal’s bottom lip he pulls back a fraction.

Hannibal’s lips curl. “Are you going to kill me, Will?”

“No.” Will frowns. Tilts his head.

Slightly narrowed eyes are watching him carefully. There is the tiniest twitch to Hannibal’s upper lip and a low-voiced, clipped grunt slips out, just barely audible. Will shifts his gaze to the sharp metal resting firmly to the delicate skin right below Hannibal’s chin. He twists his wrist, shifts his angle, and Hannibal tips his head backwards a fraction with another cut-off noise. 

“Are you afraid that I would?”

There is no reply, only dark eyes watching him.

“I have thought about it. But you’re more afraid of me rejecting you than you are of death at my hands. You wouldn’t have let me pull you off that cliff otherwise.”

He shifts a little bit closer, lifts his free hand to touch his fingers to Hannibal’s cheek. Hannibal’s gaze flit to Will’s hand and instantly back up to meet his eyes. The flinch, as his thumb brushes lips, revealing a hint of sharp teeth, is minute but as he pries those teeth apart and presses the pad of his thumb to the front ones of the lower jaw there is not even a hint of give. Slowly he increases the pressure on the blade and he feels the exact moment when Hannibal lets the muscles of his jaw go lax.

“I’m afraid I would. I’m afraid I will. Not now.” He pushes his finger into Hannibal’s mouth and feels his lips close around it. “But inevitably. As sure as the wolf chasing the moon will catch him and eat him.”

Will feels the caress of tongue, velvet and wet, and he slides the digit out slowly to push back in with a soft moan. He feels himself growing hard and he curls his finger, puts downwards force to his slow slides, and he feels his nail scratch against soft tissue.

He pulls out and takes a few breaths.

“Did it hurt?” His voice tastes much too heated, each syllable sounds too thick. He swallows.

“A dull kind of burn.”

Will exhales shakily. For a moment he doesn’t move, only listens to Hannibal’s shallow breathing and looks at eyes still dark, but which are now heavy-lidded instead of narrowed. Then he shifts closer still. Hannibal moves as he moves; only directed by the blade at his throat and no other touch. He settles back against the couch, head tilted back, neck exposed, and eyes carefully trained on Will’s. 

With a hand that trembles just a little, Will reaches out and runs his fingers slowly from Hannibal’s knee and up. Will takes a shaky breath and dips his hand to Hannibal’s inner thigh. Hannibal jumps and sucks in a breath and a low, raspy moan escapes him. His eyes have fluttered shut and his lips are parted and his tongue keeps darting out to lick the bottom one, leaving it slick and shiny.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” Will asks and slides his hand up to cup Hannibal’s cock.

“Yes.” Hannibal groans and shifts his hip, pressing his hard length into Will’s palm.

Will rubs him slowly and firmly though his trousers. “Will you be good for me?”

Hannibal drops his head backwards, catches his bottom lip between his teeth and gives a few cut-off grunts as his hips twitch up seeking friction. Will gives a slow and light drag of the blade across Hannibal’s throat and Hannibal’s breath catches and Will can see his fingers scratch at the couch.

“Yeah, yeah,” comes the quick response. “Just please, you _really are_ killing me.”

“Mads, you’re dropping character,” Hugh chides, moving his hands away.

“I am a good actor but not so good that I can act and have your hand on my cock at the same time for helvede,” Mads says in a breathless voice, grinning though his eyes are still almost closed.

“Are we done playing?” Hugh asks, frowning slightly.

Mads opens one eye and peers at him. “We are not done fucking, no.”

“Do you want to keep going in character?”

“No.”

Hugh puts the knife away at the coffee table and leans in and places a kiss to Mads’ lips. Mads’ catches him by the back of the head and coxes Hugh’s mouth open and as his tongue touches Hugh’s, Hugh inhales sharply through his nose and splay both hands on Mads’ broad chest.

Mads pulls back and nuzzles Hugh’s neck and Hugh tips his head to the side.

“But we can keep playing with the knife. I like the knife,” Mads breathes against Hugh’s skin and Hugh shudders.

“I— would enjoy that.”

Mads grabs him and promptly pulls him to straddle his lap. He looks at Hugh with a leer. “Go get a real knife.”

Hugh laughs unsteadily. “No, it would have to be sterilized and we have never done this, it’s not safe and it’s not sane.”

“Okay,” Mads says and then he grins. “You’re an actor right, so imagine you have a very sharp knife, right.”

“Okay, yeah, I am imagining.”

Mads hands comes to rest at Hugh’s ass and he gives a squeeze before he runs his hands up Hugh’s back. “You would have the knife and I would back away from you and then my back would hit the wall and I can’t escape.”

“I would,” Hugh says though trembling, shallow breaths, “place the dull side of the blade against your cheekbone.”

He reaches out and caresses Mads’ left cheek with a finger and Mads’ shies away, flinching backwards but not enough to break contact. He gives a little gasp and his eyes flit rapidly left and right as he meets Hugh’s gaze. Something contracts in the pit of Hugh’s stomach at that and he gives a low moan and tilts his hand vertically as he slides his finger down to Mads’ lips and drags his nail over them. They part at the touch and Hugh moans deep and low again.

“I would touch the edge to you lips,” Hugh says, “and I would push slowly until the skin splits.”

He digs his nail into Mads’ bottom lip and Mads’ screws his eyes shut and makes a tiny noise. Hugh grabs him by the hair and leans in, driving his hips down and grinding against Mads’ cock through their clothes.

“God, your lips.” He tugs Mads’ head back by the firm grip on his hair and roughly runs his fingers over those lips and then grabs Mads firmly by the jaw.

“Do you want to fuck my mouth?” Mads asks in a shaky voice, eyes downcast and head turned slightly away from Hugh’s grip.

“No, no I want to cut you and see you bleed.” He leans in and presses a slow kiss to Mads’ mouth. “Just a nick, just enough to know how you taste.”

Mads is breathing with small, quick breaths and his eyes are tightly shut and his hands are balled into fists kept pressed against the couch cushion. Hugh groans and grinds down again.

“And I would cut your clothes off,” he growls as he grabs Mads’ by the arm instead of his jaw and presses his face against his shoulder and rock his hips.

He feels Mads shift then and he lifts his head and watches as Mads pulls the t-shirt he was wearing off, and the image flickers in his mind of the fabric being cut away and it sends a rush of heat to pool low in his belly. He curls his hands into fists and digs his nails into his palms.

“What will you do when you have cut my clothes off?” Mads hands come to rest at Hugh’s waist and Mads pushes his hips up as he holds Hugh down.

Hugh drops his head back to Mads’ shoulder and screws his eyes shut. His heart is beating wildly in his chest.

“Slide the blunt side of the blade across your chest, having you worry about when and if I will turn it around—“

Mads gives a hushed grunt and arches against him and he can feel his own pulse beating madly and something twisting inside. Behind closed eyes he sees the knife in his hand, listens to it sing against naked sink and watches wide eyes struggle between finding his and hiding away. He releases a shaky breath against Mads’ shoulder and presses his face against heated skin and feels a shiver run through him.

“This is insane.”

A gentle hand strokes his hair and a soft kiss is pressed to his hair.

“You’re pretty fucked up. I don’t know what to do with you, right.”

“Meaning you’ve never known?”

“Aldrig, faktiskt.”

Hugh’s shoulders sag. He bangs his forehead once against Mads’ shoulder.

Mads give a little chuckle. “You’re enormously exciting. My life is boring. Probably I'm a bit fucked up too.”

“We need to discuss the way you’ve taken to select parts of Hannibal’s vocabulary. It really doesn’t suit you.”

Mads just gives another quiet chuckle.

“Did I kill the mood or?” Hugh lifts his head again and looks at Mads’ who winks at him and gives a roll of his hips. “Okay, that’s a very, very definite _no_.”

“But we can move to the bedroom.”

“What, too old for adventurous, impractical sex on less comfortable furniture?”

“Hold kæft.”

Mads ducks his head, grinning.

“What about your game?”

“Hold nu din kæft.”

“Oh, it’s because Denmark is losing against Sweden. Ouch, that has to sting.”

“Hvis du ikke holder din kæft—”

”Hm? What will you do if I keep talkning?”

Mads stands up and with a yelp Hugh locks his legs around Mads’ hips. He holds on tightly to Mads’ bare shoulders and clings to him as he begins to walk. He gives another yelp as Mads simply drops him on the guest bed and his breath catches in his throat and his arms flail.

“I will do that,” Mads says with a grin. He presses his tongue against sharp teeth and crinkles appear around his eyes.

Hugh closes his eyes and draws a few breaths. He gives a little laugh.

“But I have misbehaved so much,” Hugh says, opening his eyes. He looks up at Mads and stretches out on the bed, arching his back and spreading his legs a little. “Surely that can’t be nowhere near enough of a punishment?”

“Oh.” Mads ducks his head.

Closings his fingers around the covers, Hugh draws a slow breath. Mads is smiling, his eyes downcast, and one hand tucks a few strands of stray hair behind his ear. It licks a hot trail down Hugh’s belly that pools low.

“And we’re back at not really knowing what to do with me?” he mumbles and gets a tiny nod in response.

He sits up and reaches for Mads who takes his hand instantly. Hugh rubs his thumb over Mads’ knuckles and then presses a kiss to them.

“What if we— what would you say to go fetching the dinner knife again?” Hugh kisses Mads hand a second time and looks up at him, trying to catch his gaze.

“Eh, okay. But I don’t know—“

Hugh laughs, kisses him again. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”

With another nod Mads goes and Hugh drops his hand only when Mads gets out of reach. He lays back against the bed, left unmade since the morning when they rolled out of it, and lets his eyes flutter shut. His heart is still jackhammering against his ribs and his mind tilts dangerously and threatens to spill over with scenarios, make imaginary images splash out into reality. He closes his fingers around fabric, hands clenching around cotton sheets, and draws a shaky breath. Footsteps approaches and he blinks his eyes open and makes his hands relax only to have them spasm and close around the sheet again as his gaze falls on the kitchen knife in Mads’ hand. The light from the lamp reflects off of the blade and something inside Hugh contracts violently at the sight.

“Oh, God, this is very bad etiquette,” Hugh groans and presses the heel of his palms to his eyes.

He feels the mattress dip underneath Mads’ weight.

“Come here,” Hugh says, opening his eyes and reaching for Mads.

Mads comes quietly, eyes slightly round, lips a bit parted, and Hugh huffs a breath through his nose and tucks him close, careful of the sharp knife.

“Do you _really_ want to do this?” Hugh says against Mads’ hair and presses a kiss there.

“Selvfølgelig.” Mads lifts his head and meets Hugh’s gaze. “And it’s properly cleaned.”

“It should be sterilized.”

“It’s been washed in the machine.”

“The dishwasher? I really don’t think—”

Mads puts the knife away on the bedside table and manhandles Hugh on top of himself, spreads his legs and lets Hugh fall down between them and bends them at the knee and presses them against Hugh. His heart leaps and he swallows. Mads tilts his hips and Hugh feels his erection through their clothes and he drops his head and presses down against Mads for a good moment. His eyes wander off to the bedside table and the gleam of the stainless steel and he swallows down a noise and feels a shudder run through him. He rocks his hips in slow, drawn out thrusts and closes his eyes and tries to hold on by a thread.

The shift, the change in weight distribution and the temporarily new angle of the body beneath his, has Hugh stopping momentarily. He feels something being pressed into his hand and suddenly his lungs stop working on a trembling exhale. Closing his fingers firmly around the handle of the knife, he manages to draw a shaky breath and he turns his head to look Mads in the eye. Eyes that are round and fragile, flitting like the wings of a small bird between Hugh’s and the knife in his hand. Somewhere on that back and forth flight the little bird tangles itself up in the loose thread and something inside Hugh completely unravels then.

Sitting up on his heels, bracing himself with on hand on Mads’ still drawn up knee, he slowly lowers the tip of the knife to Mads’ chest. He watches the quick rise and fall of Mads’ chest and how the tries to follow the knife with his eyes, until it touches him and he drops his head, closes his eyes and goes very still. The knife touches high up on Mads’ sternum, just below the hollow of his throat, with the blunt side of the blade turned towards Mads naked skin.

Hugh watches Mads give a thick swallow and turn his head minutely away. He puts a little more pressure and sees Mads upper lip twitch. Hugh’s cock jumps and he’s achingly hard and he has to close his eyes for a moment against the sudden vertigo. His hands have started to shake and he lets up, pulls the point away from where it’s resting just below Mads’ throat. There’s a tiny, tiny bead of bright red blood in its wake and it catches Hugh’s eyes and he reaches out with a trembling finger to catch it. The finger touches his bottom lip and his tongue darts out to lick at it.

A taste, a tiny hint of copper.

His breathing falls completely apart and he shudders out a moan. He leans down, threads his fingers through Mads’ hair, grabs it and pulls, exposing Mads’ neck. Mads gives a cut-off gasp and Hugh watches the rapid rise and fall of his chest. Besides that he keeps almost completely still, save for the twitches of his hips; a kind of half-thrusts that has Hugh grinding down hard.

He places the knife against Mads’ throat, underneath his chin, and watches his eyelids twitch and the tip of his tongue dart out to press against his upper lip. He feels Mads tilt his hips, press up against him, hard and insistent, while his legs press harder against Hugh’s body.

“You have me so close,” Hugh says, words tumbling out somewhere between a laugh and a groan, “to coming all over myself.”

A tiny, quick smile flits over Mads’ lips. He doesn’t open his eyes.

“Take you trousers off,” Hugh says and pulls back.

It takes a moment. Mads slowly blinks his eyes open and first the meets Hugh’s gaze, then his eyes slide off to glance at the knife and he scrambles to unzip and wiggle out of his trousers.

“Underwear too.”

The underwear follows the trouser over the edge of the bed and lands somewhere on the floor. Hugh watches in silence for a moment, eyes first at the knife as he turns it in his hand, a fingertip to the sharp point, testing, and then the shift over to Mads. He sees Mads’ eyes widen and his mouth open and grins as Mads’ dick jumps and leaks against an already sticky patch of skin.

Hugh runs the blunt side of the blade against Mads’ thigh, watching his cock jump again, and tells him to stay. He stands up and puts the knife away, well out of Mads’ reach, and begins to unbutton his shirt. He moves slowly, his focus almost entirely caught by Mads and the way his eyes are screwed shut, his lips are wet and parted and his hands have balled into fists, tightly clutching handfuls of the sheet. Finally getting all his clothes off, dropped carelessly to the floor, Hugh opens the bedside table drawer and grabs the small tube. He brings the knife to where it can be easily reached. He crawls onto the bed and up to Mads and pushes his legs apart to settle between them. He sees Mads eyes flutter halfway open and how he looks through heavy eyelids as Hugh touches two fingers to his perineum and drag them down. He feels the flutters beneath his fingertips as they run softly over Mads’ hole. Hugh retreats his fingers and returns with his thumb, rubbing lightly but not yet breaching. Mads groans and shifts against him and Hugh presses down with the pad of his thumb then, just barely pushing inside. He pulls back as Mads tries to grind his hips down but returns with a wet finger and rubs again before pushing the now slick digit inside.

He’s met with another gruff groan and Mads clenching around him.

Hugh feels the haunting of tremors in his limbs as electricity ghosts through him in shorter and shorter intervals. He pushes his thumb into Mads’ body all the way to the second knuckle and feels his own cock twitch and leak. With a low moan he pulls back a little only to push back inside watching and feeling his finger disappear into the velvet heat.

It’s a rather good while of adding more fingers, seeing the way Mads’ begin to tremble beneath his ministrations, before he finally lines up. He has to squeeze around the root and inhale and exhale slowly before he can begin to push inside. The head of his cock presses against Mads’ slicked hole and it’s a slow give at first and then he sinks in a little bit. He pauses, watches Mads’ face, the way his upper lip has twisted into a sneer, and waits for his body to yield. Hugh feels the moment when Mads’ body gives and he can push deeper and then he can give a quicker, harder trust and bury deep. He drops his head and moans long and deep as he bottoms out.

At first he just breathes. Then he brings a just short of trembling hand to pick up the knife yet again and he waits until Mads sees that he has it, until that widening of his eyes, so at odds with the way his hips rock and his body squeezes down on Hugh’s cock, and then he slowly places it against Mads’ left collarbone, blunt side down. He presses and gives a thrust of his hips and Mads’ twitch around and against him and groans and bites his lips and Hugh does it again and again until he is shaking and gasping and feels heat and electricity rush through him and with a few, erratic, hard thrusts he comes with a growl through gritted teeth, cock showed deep.

Shakily he puts the knife away and then he collapses against Mads’, breathing heavily.

Hugh feels Mads arms warp tightly around him and feels damp huffs of breath against his hair. He reaches out with his left hand and curls his fingers around Mads shoulder and holds on. With his thumb he strokes gently, soothingly, against Mads’ collarbone.

“Did I cut you?” he runs his thumb back and forth and lifts his head to look, then try to catch Mads gaze.

Mads eyes are closed. He shakes his head. Then Hugh feels him shift and finds himself rolled over onto his back with Mads straddling him. Mads lifts up just an inch and drops down and Hugh hisses. He grabs Mads hips but Mads rocks up and down a few more times before he stills and wraps a hand around his cock strokes himself, hard and fast. Hugh smooths his hands up and down Mads’ thighs and feels him jerk and twitch and Hugh moans and shifts against him, seeing the effect it has, and he feels how Mads body draws taut and how he comes all over Hugh’s stomach and chest with a low grunt. Mads rubs his cock through what’s splattered low on Hugh’s belly, head still thrown back and eyes closed and reddened bottom lip caught between his teeth.

With a sigh Mads curls down over him and presses his face to Hugh’s neck, breathing ragged, warm breaths against his skin. Hugh brings his hands up to Mads’ shoulderblades and holds on. He feels Mads shift his hips until Hugh slips out and then he collapses onto his back. Hugh curls up close to him, without pressing his sticky skin to him, and places his head up on Mads’ chest.

“Please don’t throw yourself into a kink again,” he says, words slightly muffled against glowing warm skin.

Mads hand cups his head, fingers threading through his hair.

“I mean it. We’ve danced around on the edge of things like this on and off for _years_ now. We should, I don’t know, have a safe word. Negotiate. It needs to be safe.”

“Hm.”

“Look, I mean, I _enjoyed_ this. And I enjoyed the breathplay thing, when I wore that collar.”

“The play? When I saw it? After? That collar?”

“Venus in Fur, yeah.”

He feels Mads kiss his forehead.

“I liked that too.”

“You liked what it did to me. Not liked _it_ , per se.”

“Yes. And I liked this.”

Hugh heaves a sigh. He rolls away, onto his back, and presses a thumb and forefinger just above his eyes.

“I will think of, uh, a safeword, okay?” Mads says and drops a kiss to Hugh’s forehead again.

“Good.”

He feels Mads grab him and pull him close. He settles against him and gently brushes his hair back, touches his fingertips to his cheek, splays his hand over his heart and feel it thud calmly and steadily.

“You are _really_ fucking kinky, huh?” Mads says then, grinning. Lips curling and eyes crinkling.

Hugh groans. “You’ve _barely_ begun to scratch the surface.”

“Did you used to, uh—“

“Yes. But with you and Clarie it’s been much more vanilla and— it’s a bit like an itch now, after so long.”

Mads lifts his head, looks at him with a wide grin. “I’ll help you scratch it.”

Hugh screws his eyes shut. “God, don’t say things like that. Next thing you know, you’ll have signed up for bloodplay or something.”

“Next time?”

Hugh’s throat clicks as he swallows and he slowly opens one eye. He’s met by a Mads that grins widely at him, eyes glittering, and Hugh grabs a pillow and hits him with it.

“Shut up,” Hugh says and Mads gives a chuckle. “You know what, Denmark probably lost to Sweden.”

Mads gives him a punch in the ribs and he yelps and laughs.

“You are lucky I love you!” Mads tells him, pointing at him.

“Og jeg elsker dig,” Hugh says, seeing Mads’ eyes grow warm and his lips shape a soft smile.

They curl up together again and Hugh hides his smile against Mads’ neck.

“Lucky indeed,” he says quietly and feels Mads tighten his grip around him, give him a quick squeeze, and kiss the top of his head again.

Hugh smiles wider.


End file.
